Gospel Story Finder

In anticipation of the hurricanes, the Church had moved food, bottled water, generators, chain saws, and other equipment to safe sites near the coast. As soon as the storms passed, supplies and equipment were quickly moved to locations like the storehouse for use and distribution. Stakes and wards in surrounding areas organized thousands of LDS volunteers into work groups that came each weekend from September to November to put tarps on roofs, cut up trees lying across roads, and pull up water-soaked carpets.

Ben Bradley, 13, was on one of these crews. He and his father, sister, and brother drove seven hours each way from Albany, Georgia, to Gulfport, Mississippi, making the trip several times. “We wanted to help,” Ben says. “I learned that all it takes is a willingness to pitch in, and Mormons are good at that.” Often crews would complete a work order at a member’s house and then perform similar tasks in other houses or yards in the neighborhood. The Church was widely recognized for its ability to help its own members and its willingness to help others, too.

One bishop taught his new deacons quorum presidency these duties. So the young presidency began to talk about what that might look like in their quorum and in their ward. They decided they should start visiting elderly ward members to see what they needed and then do that.

Among those they served was Alan, a rough, often profane, and sometimes hostile neighbor. Alan’s wife, Wanda, became a member of the Church, but Alan was, as we say, something of a piece of work.

Still, the deacons went to work, comically ignoring his insults, while they shoveled snow and took out trash. Deacons can be hard to hate, and Alan eventually began to love them. At some point they invited him to church.

“I don’t like church,” he responded.

“Well, you like us,” they said. “So come with us. You can just come to our quorum meeting if you want.”

And with the bishop’s approval, he came—and he kept coming.

The deacons became teachers, and as they continued to serve him, he taught them to work on cars and to build things. By the time these deacons-turned-teachers became priests, Alan was calling them “my boys.”

They were earnestly preparing for missions and asked him if they could practice missionary lessons with him. He swore that he would never listen and never believe, but, yeah, they could practice at his house.

And then Alan got sick. And he softened.

And one day in quorum meeting, he tenderly asked them to pray for him to quit smoking, and so they did. But then they followed him home and confiscated all of his tobacco stash.

As his failing health put Alan into hospitals and rehab centers, “his boys” served him, quietly exuding powers of priesthood and of love unfeigned (see Doctrine and Covenants 121:41).

The miracle continued when Alan asked to be baptized—but then he passed away before it could happen. At his request, his deacons-turned-priests were the pallbearers and the speakers at his funeral, where they—fittingly—warned, expounded, exhorted, taught, and invited all to Christ.

And later, in the temple, it was one of “Alan’s boys” who baptized that erstwhile deacons quorum president in proxy for Alan.

Everything John the Baptist said to do, they did. They did what deacons, teachers, and priests do all over this Church and all over this world.

One family that has felt the effects of following this counsel is that of Bishop Richard Auger of the Banbury Ward; his wife, Gill; and their two daughters, Hannah and Charlotte, both recently married in the London England Temple. Bishop Auger, an inspector with Thames Valley Police, is very aware of the world’s poor standards and their effects on youth and their behavior. “Gill and I used For the Strength of Youth to learn about parenting so we could be consistent and based on the scriptures,” he says. “Throughout the girls’ teenage years, we used it as a ready guide and in many different ways. When the girls wanted to shop for their own clothes, it was a worry to us, so we sent them out with the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet so they could refer to it when making choices.”
Hannah, 21, says, “We kept the booklet in our purses as it states clearly what is and what isn’t appropriate.” The sisters learnt they could make some clothing more modest with a little sewing or by adding accessories. Charlotte, 19, adds, “Hannah and I never felt that our parents made decisions for us. We knew that our parents followed the prophet and the Savior, and so by following our parents, we would always be living the teachings of the Savior too.”

I’m soooo tired. I barely got any sleep last night. In the middle of the night I heard a freaky noise and poked Bryant to wake him up. It went kind of like this:
Me: Bryant! What’s that noise?
Bryant: Um, I think it’s a frog.
Me: I don’t think so. Could it be a snake?
Bryant: Nah, snakes don’t make noise. … Maybe it was a coyote?
Me: You said it was a frog!
Bryant: Maybe a coyote is chasing the frog.
Me: Or maybe the frog is chasing a coyote.
Bryant: Hahahaha! Maybe it was an alien!
Me: A robot alien!
Bryant: Dressed like a coyote!
Bryant and me: HAHAHA!
We were cracking up all night! Finally, we got some sleep. It was kind of scary to hear weird noises in the dark. I wonder if that’s how Bryant feels sometimes. But joking with Bryant helped me feel better. I’m glad he’s my friend.

Bill and Susan are devout Latter-day Saints who, after nine years of marriage, have four children, a car, lovely home, and job security. In fact, there is really only one thing missing from their marriage: happiness. Oh, they have their happy moments, but the stormy days outnumber the sunshiny ones. They finally decided to make an appointment with their bishop.

After they had discussed a wide range of problems, the bishop explained to Bill and Susan that we all tend to live our lives according to “scripts”—behavioral patterns we’ve picked up from our parents or from other significant people we’ve known. These patterns and habits may be at the root of some of our marital misunderstandings. “Regardless of whatever patterns our relationships may have fallen into, the scriptures can provide us with the life scripts we need to guide our daily actions. Bill and Susan, how often do you read the scriptures together?”

“We’ve tried a few times,” Sue replied, “but it seems like we have a hard time scheduling scripture study around work, other obligations, and television.”

Bishop Wilson then challenged Bill and Susan to read the scriptures each week with an eye toward searching them for solutions to their mutual problems. Bill mildly protested: “But, Bishop, I studied the scriptures on my mission, and I can’t recall many verses that specifically tell us how to resolve our family problems.”

The bishop smiled at Bill’s response. “Maybe the answers were there, Bill. Have you ever followed Nephi’s counsel to liken the scriptures unto ourselves? (See 1 Ne. 19:23.) I’d suggest that during the coming weeks you set aside fifteen or twenty minutes each day to systematically study the scriptures. You may want to start with specific topics found in a topical guide. Follow through with a discussion of what you read—and above all, liken the scriptures to your own family relationships. You might also write in your journals the insights you gain so you can readily refer to them later.”

Bill and Susan accepted the bishop’s challenge. Before they began, they had assumed that scriptural counsel—like the Beatitudes, for example—was to guide their actions and attitudes toward neighbors, colleagues at work, and friends. Suddenly the insight grew within them that any scripture counseling us how to treat our fellowmen is, by definition, inspired counsel on how married couples should treat each other. For example …

I owe much of my happiness to a man I have never met. He was one of my great-grandparents. He left me a priceless heritage of hope.

His name was Heinrich Eyring. He was born into a wealthy family in Germany, but both of his parents died when he was young. He was left without any money. He felt that his best hope was in going to the United States. He moved to Missouri. There he worked with a man who was a Latter-day Saint. He gave Heinrich a copy of a Church pamphlet. Heinrich read it and studied every word he could find about the Latter-day Saints. He prayed to know if there really were angels that appeared to men, whether there was a living prophet, and whether he had found a true religion. After two months of careful study and prayer, Heinrich was told in a dream that he should be baptized. On March 11, 1855, Heinrich was baptized in a pool of rainwater.

Heinrich left a written history for his descendants. In that history I can feel his love for those of us who would follow. I feel his hope that his descendants might choose to follow him on the path back to our heavenly home. He knew it would not be one choice to make, but many small choices.

Like my ancestor Heinrich, you may be the first in your family to make sacred covenants.

Heinrich was a pioneer in President Eyring’s family. Who are the pioneers in your family? Look at the pictures below. One shows a pioneer family in the early days of the Church. The other shows a pioneer family today. What is the same about both pictures? What is different?

When Bret May was a high school freshman in Salmon, Idaho, one of his summer jobs was doing maintenance for a mobile home park. He never imagined he was beginning to discover what he wanted to do for a career. “Mostly I did upkeep work,” he says, “but I loved it when I got a chance to do landscaping.”
Other jobs followed, including a lawn-mowing business with his brother, Clint, and work with landscaping crews as he finished high school. Then he enrolled at Ricks College, a Church-sponsored school in Rexburg, Idaho, which offered a two-year degree in landscaping.
“Following my first year of schooling, I went on an occupational internship and spent about three months working for a landscape contractor in southern Utah. I gained some practical experience at that point; then after my internship I went on a mission, not knowing whether my career ideas would change.
“I was called to the Arizona Phoenix Mission, and after I’d been there about six months, I knew I was going to stick with landscaping. Every place I went, especially when I saw the beautiful homes and surroundings in Scottsdale, I just knew that’s what I wanted to do.
“But I also had a goal that I wanted to operate my own landscape installation company. When I returned from my mission, I got a little impatient. I didn’t want to go for a four-year degree, and I didn’t want to spend a lot of time working for someone else. So I got my two-year degree, then set myself up so I could work for several different contractors for short periods of time, so I could get a variety of experience.” Bret realized his dream of starting his own landscaping business. Today you’ll find him in St. George, Utah, where he’s still spending his days outdoors, “creating additional living space outside people’s homes.”
If you’re trying to decide what career you want to follow, Bret suggests working for as many people as you can, with the attitude that “I’m here to work hard, and I’m here to learn.” Then, he says, “apply what you learn, and pick a program that can give you the training you need.”

At church, I was called as a ward clerk and later as a counselor in the bishopric. I couldn’t believe that someone in a wheelchair could serve. My accident had made me feel useless, but working in the Church made me feel useful and helped me realize I could contribute. I love the opportunity to grow closer to Jesus Christ as I serve.
As a counselor in the bishopric, I wanted to be guided so I could be better at my calling. That made me want to prepare more for each Sunday. I got into the habit of reading my scriptures, and I had opportunities to bear my testimony. Being a leader at church even helped me become a leader at work. I built up the feeling that I could lead and speak up, allowing me to lead in other areas.
“Working in the Church made me feel useful and realize that I could contribute,” says Posenai. “I love the opportunity to grow closer to Jesus Christ as I serve.”

The youth of the Poway California Stake weren’t exactly thrilled when they heard their youth conference would consist mainly of painting and planting, but by the time the testimony meeting at the end rolled around, it was obvious that it turned out to be one of the best conferences ever.
About 220 young people descended on Julian, a small town within their stake, to plant 100 seven-foot liquidambar trees and paint the exterior of the United Methodist Church, where the LDS branch leases space for its services. They knew that by planting the trees, they were helping clean the southern California air. A tree can consume as much as 50 pounds of smog per year.
Inspirational speakers, a spiritual slide and music presentation, and a dance were part of the conference as well. And it all cost one-tenth of the previous year’s conference.

An eternal family. My family members and I are converts. My dad was baptized in 2000, and he had attended several temple preparation classes but was reluctant to go through the temple. Then my family accepted President Hinckley’s challenge to read the Book of Mormon, and I truly believe it prepared us spiritually so we would be able to receive the blessings of the temple. In October, a high councilor firmly but happily told my dad he needed to set a date to receive his endowment and to be sealed as a family. My dad agreed, and from then on everything fell into place. My dad went to the temple in late October, and we were sealed on November 19. We had been waiting years to enter the temple, but as we diligently read the Book of Mormon, the Lord prepared a way for us to enter His house and be sealed for eternity. Danielle Crane, Sandy, Utah, USA

One day on the school bus, Rachel Chase and Lauren Smith, both in the Acworth Ward seminary, were talking about what a good seminary lesson they had that day. Curtis Clinch repeated something his pastor had told him about the Latter-day Saints being one of the fastest growing religions.
Rachel agreed and said, “It kind of makes you think, doesn’t it, Curtis?”
He answered, “Yeah, it kind of does.”
Rachel asked, “Do you want to come to seminary with us?” Instead of Curtis answering, Heidi Hetzer, another friend who had been listening to their conversation, surprised them by saying, “Oh, I do.” Rachel arranged to pick up both Curtis and Heidi, and they have been going ever since—especially after their baptisms a couple of months later.

Heidi said, “I’ve known Rachel and her brother, Stephen, since they moved to Georgia. I’ve seen how close their family is. And I’ve known other members. They all seem happier than the rest of us. I’ve been interested in the Church for a while, but I didn’t have the opportunity to learn more. So when Rachel was talking to Curtis and invited him to seminary, I just said I wanted to come. After that first day in seminary, I went to school with a newfound happiness. Since then, it’s been lasting.”

In fact, on her baptism day, Rachel’s dad noticed her happy attitude. And her friends asked if she was wearing different makeup or something because she had a glow about her.

Heidi said, “Rachel invited me over to talk to the missionaries, and I went to a fireside that same night. I dove right into the Church.”

Daniel’s eyes lit up as he tore the last of the wrapping paper off the box. He lifted off the lid, then shouted, “Yippee! They’re just what I wanted!”
Inside the box were a pair of shiny, new cowboy boots. They were black and had a white design stitched on them. Daniel had wanted cowboy boots for a long time.
“Try them on,” his five-year-old brother, Steven, said.
“Yes! Yes! Try them on!” echoed Daniel’s three-year-old sister, Sara. Carefully he lifted the right boot out of the box. He turned it over in his hand, feeling the smooth black leather.
“I hope you like them,” Mom said. “Dad thought that they would be just right for you.”
Daniel nodded happily. “Wow!” he exclaimed as he admired them. He gently pulled the boot onto his right foot, lifted the other boot out of the box, and pulled it onto his left foot. He wiggled his toes inside the boots. Then he stood up, stomped his feet, and jumped twice. They fit perfectly!
“It looks like they’re just the right size,” Dad said.
“Thanks, Mom and Dad! They’re just what I wanted!” Daniel leaned forward on his feet, then rocked back. He balanced on one foot, then the other.
“I think he likes them,” Dad whispered to Mom.
“Just be careful with them,” Mom cautioned. “If you get them in the water or get them muddy or scuffed up, they won’t look new anymore.”
“I’ll take real good care of my boots!” Daniel promised as he bent over and ran his hand along the shiny black toe.
He did take good care of his cowboy boots. He always jumped over any water on the sidewalk. He never skipped through any mud puddles, and he always walked very carefully so that he wouldn’t make scuff marks on them. Every night when he took them off, he shined them with a soft cloth, then placed them side by side next to his bed. The cowboy boots stayed black, shiny, and new-looking.
Early one morning, as Daniel was finishing his breakfast, his mother asked him if he would go to the post office and mail a letter for her.
“Sure, Mom.”
“Be sure you wear a jacket, Daniel. It looks like the wind is picking up.”
After he put on his jacket and hat, he took the letter from his mother and started out for the post office.
The sky was overcast, it was windy, and it looked like it might rain. But Daniel was so happy to be wearing his new boots, that he didn’t notice. He skipped down the sidewalk and soon reached the post office. He mailed Mom’s letter and started home. The wind was blowing hard, so he zipped up his jacket and adjusted his hat so that it would not blow off. Then he started to jog. He passed Mr. Campbell’s bakery and Mrs. Goodson’s little sewing shop. He hurried past the Tuckers’ house and the Andersons’. By then, the wind was so strong that leaves and bits of paper were flying through the air, and dust was getting in his eyes.
Suddenly he stopped. He saw something very strange—a large white object flying by him! He blinked the dust out of his eyes and looked again. The flying white object was a man’s shirt! It fluttered, twisted, and flopped, then came to a stop right in a huge mud puddle!
“Catch that shirt!” A breathless voice exclaimed behind him. “I’ve been chasing it for five minutes! Oh, look at it now!”
Daniel turned around just as Mrs. Tucker caught up to him.
“I hung my laundry out on the clothesline this morning,” she said, panting from her run. “The breeze was quite nice, and I thought that it would dry my clothes quickly.” She took a deep breath. “But it suddenly got so windy! Now look at the shirt!” she moaned. “My husband needed to wear it tonight. Oh, now what am I going to do?” She threw her hands up in the air.
“I’ll get it for you, Mrs. Tucker,” Daniel quickly volunteered.
Mrs. Tucker’s face brightened. “Could you do that?” She looked hopeful. “I have to get the rest of my laundry off the clothesline before anything else blows away! Thank you so much!” Mrs. Tucker was already hurrying home.
Daniel stepped cautiously toward the huge mud puddle. It was starting to rain, and he didn’t want any mud splashing on his boots. The shirt had landed in the middle of the muddy water. He bent down and tried to reach it, but his arms weren’t long enough. He stood up and looked around for a long stick that he could pull the shirt out with. There were no long sticks anywhere, but he saw a short one a few feet away. He picked it up. It might work, he thought.
He squatted and reached out over the puddle as far as he could, but the stick wasn’t quite long enough. He inched closer to the water and stretched the stick out a little farther. But it was just too short. The shirt was still out of reach. He tried again, stretching the tiniest bit farther. …
Suddenly Daniel lost his balance. He tried to keep himself from falling, but he couldn’t stop himself and fell face first into the muddy water!
He stood up, grabbed the shirt, and jumped out of the dirty puddle. He was soaked! Mud and water dripped from his head and arms. His hat was crooked and it had dirty water dripping from the brim. As he wiped a dirty sleeve across his face, he looked down at his feet. His wonderful boots were wet and covered with a thick layer of mud! Daniel couldn’t even see the white stitching on the sides. He began stomping his feet on the sidewalk to shake the mud off of his boots, but not much came off. He wiped his jacket sleeve across the toe of each boot. It came away muddy, and it didn’t help much.
Upset, Daniel tucked the dirty white shirt under his arm and walked slowly to Mrs. Tucker’s house. It was still raining a little, but he didn’t even notice. All he could think about was his boots. No longer were they black, shiny, and new-looking. Now they’re ruined! he thought.
Daniel returned the shirt to a very grateful Mrs. Tucker. She thanked him and gave him a homemade chocolate chip cookie. He took a little bite as he walked home. But even though chocolate chip cookies were his favorite, he could barely taste it. All he could think about was his boots.
He felt so miserable that he didn’t see the little girl standing under a tree. He did hear her crying, though. It was Katie. She played with his sister, Sara. “What’s wrong, Katie?” he asked.
“My kitten climbed this tree when it started to get windy, and I can’t get her down.”
“I’ll help you.” Katie pointed to the top of the tree where a frightened kitten was clinging to a branch, and Daniel started to climb the tree. The wet branches grabbed at his jacket and scraped his legs and hands as he climbed toward the kitten. Finally he reached her. He gently lifted her off the branch, tucked her into the front of his jacket, and climbed down the tree.
Katie was very happy to have her pet safe and sound. She thanked Daniel and ran off cradling the kitten in her arms.
Daniel felt good. He was glad that he had helped Katie. But as he looked down to zip his jacket, he saw his boots—they were not only wet and muddy, they were also scratched and scuffed! Daniel sighed sadly. He was sure that his parents wouldn’t be very happy when they saw his boots.
He was going up the lane to his house, when he saw Dad trying to herd the new lambs back into their pen. “Do you need some help, Dad?” Dad gave him a long look. He noticed Daniel’s dirty face and muddy, wet clothes. He saw the scratched cowboy boots. “It looks like you’ve had a busy afternoon.”
Daniel glumly nodded.
“Well, I could sure use some help getting these lambs back into their pen. There’s a hole in the fence, and they found it!”
Daniel climbed over the fence into the lamb pen. Then he took the lambs when his father handed them over the fence. Soon all the lambs were back where they belonged. Then he helped his father fasten new wire across the hole in the fence so that the lambs couldn’t get out again.
“Thanks for the help, Son. Let’s go back to the house. It looks like it’s going to rain really hard in a few minutes!”
Daniel climbed up the fence and swung his leg over. He heard a ripping sound. He looked at his right foot in dismay. A loose wire had torn three inches on the side of his right boot. His eyes filled with tears.
Dad helped him down from the fence. “I think I can fix that with some heavy thread,” he said as he examined the tear.
Daniel just nodded slowly. His cowboy boots were really ruined now, even though he had tried hard to take care of them.
Later, in the warm kitchen, Daniel sat at the table with a cup of hot chocolate. It tasted good, but it didn’t do much to warm his spirits.
Mom put down the dish towel she had been using and sat by him. “Do you want to tell me what happened to your boots?” she asked gently.
Daniel told her about getting the shirt out of the mud puddle for Mrs. Tucker, about rescuing Katie’s kitten, and about helping Dad put the lambs back into their pen. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I really tried hard to take care of my boots.”
“I’ve noticed how well you take care of your boots,” she told him. “I’ve seen how gently you polish them and how carefully you take them off and put them away. It makes me very happy to know that you are so responsible.” She reached over and took his hand. “I’m also very pleased that you helped Mrs. Tucker, Katie, and Daddy today. Your boots may not be as shiny as they used to be, but it was only because you were serving others. That’s what our Savior wants us to do.
“You were always happy to wear your new boots because you had taken care of them. They may not look as new or as clean as they used to now, but every time you wear them, you will remember why.” She reached over and hugged him. “You know, Daniel, helping others is more important than clean, shiny boots.”
Daniel thought about that and felt happier.
“Let’s go clean your boots,” Mom said. “Then Daddy can sew up the tear. Of course,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “they won’t be as bright or shiny as they used to be, but we’ll know the reason why, won’t we?”
“Yes—my boots are muddy because I was helping people, like Jesus wants me to!”

The other experience that led me to speak of diligence to you tonight was watching a man near the end of his priesthood service in this life. He had been a bishop twice. His first call as a bishop, years before I met him, had been when he was young. Now he was old, released for the second time as a bishop. His increasing physical limitations made any priesthood service very difficult.
Yet he had a plan to act in diligence. He sat every Sunday he could get to church near the row nearest the door where most of the people would enter for the sacrament meeting. He got there early to be sure a seat was vacant. Each person arriving could see his look of love and welcome, just as they did when he sat on the stand as their bishop. His influence warmed and lifted us because we knew something of the price he paid to serve. His task as a bishop was finished; his priesthood service did not end.

One March night, the phone jangled into my dreams until Dad yanked me out of a deep sleep.
“Beth,” he hissed into my dark room as a sharp shard of hallway light spilled onto my pillow.
“Mmmmph,” I growled into my down comforter.
“Beth, Annemarie is on the phone for you. It sounds like something is wrong.” Immediately I leaped out of bed, glaring at the glowing green digital clock—4:13 A.M. Something was certainly wrong. I had only gone to bed three hours earlier after returning from junior prom. I thought Annemarie and her date left around the same time.
“Hello. What’s wrong?” I said as I picked up the receiver.
There was a sniffle on the other end of the line. “Nothing,” she said finally. “I’m okay. I’m stranded though. Can you come pick me up?”
At 4:30 A.M., I pulled into the empty parking lot of Sanders Market, a small grocery store at the edge of town. Annemarie stepped out from beside the pay phone and hobbled in her dainty high heels over to my car.
“What happened?” I demanded. Annemarie wiped the mascara streaks from her cheeks.
“We went to a party after the prom. It was all right for a while, but now everyone is drunk. I won’t tell you what Kevin tried, but it definitely wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been drinking.” Annemarie sniffled again. “Beth, I used to like parties, but you and I have so much fun without them. I wish you weren’t practically the only person in our high school who understands that you don’t need beer to have fun.”
“Congratulations,” I said quietly. “It probably wasn’t easy to walk away.”
She shrugged, her voice gathering strength as she spoke. “Not really. I knew I could count on you.”

Annie frowned, seeing what was on the table for supper. She stamped her foot and declared, “Again, Mama!”
“Yes, Annie. Mush again. Come now, sit down and be glad for it. Our stomach walls would touch were it not for the mush.”
Annie pinched her lips together and sat down next to her older sister, Marian.
After supper the mush felt like a cold stone in Annie’s stomach as they gathered around Pa. Annie usually loved Pa’s quiet, deep tones as he read from the Bible or the Book of Mormon. But tonight’s chosen scripture, the third chapter of Habakkuk, bothered her when Pa reached verses seventeen and eighteen:
“Although … the fields shall yield no meat [fruit]; …
“Yet I will rejoice …”
Annie just had to blurt out, “Pa, does that mean that we should be glad even if there’s nothing but mush to eat?”
“That’s right, Annie.” Pa smiled gently at her.
“Well, I like what David said better.” Annie found the place in the old family Bible and pointed.
“Let’s see, Psalm Eighty-One, verse ten.” A slow smile spread across Pa’s face as he read, “Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.”
With a little laugh, Marian said, “He’s done that, hasn’t He—filled our mouths with mush!”
“David didn’t mean mush, Marian!” Annie objected. “I just know that he didn’t!”
Later, in bed, Annie couldn’t sleep. She turned onto her side, thinking about Heavenly Father and mush. Surely Heavenly Father loves us enough to give us more than just mush, doesn’t He? Pa had talked about a mysterious stock market crash. He had said that the crash and now the long drought were why there wasn’t enough food or jobs. But, Annie wondered, why did Heavenly Father let it be so?
Restless, she got up and looked out the window. Her tiny bedroom above the kitchen looked out on flat, dry eastern Oregon ranchlands that seemed to stretch forever. Above, the sky was alive with twinkles. Annie stared up at the silver-spangled blackness, mulling over what Mama repeated often these days:
“Trust grows in sunshine, but—what’s best—
It blooms in darkness when at rest.”
“OK, Heavenly Father,” Annie said resignedly as she knelt by her bed, “I’ll go along with Mama and Pa and Marian. Maybe You know something that I don’t, so I’ll try to trust You more. I’ll even try to like mush a little bit.” When Annie finished her prayer, she stretched out under the quilts and drifted into a deep sleep.
Scraaaape! Scraaaatch!
The strange scraping sound wakened Annie. Drowsily she heard the screen door slam and Pa’s voice, “Git, Bossie! Go along now.”
Wondering whom Pa was talking to, Annie jumped up and pushed aside the curtains. “A cow!” she cried.
Trotting away toward the road was a jersey cow. Larger than most jerseys, she was yellowish brown, and one side was splashed with a darker brown, as though someone had splattered her with paint.
Annie stretched, then pulled on her clothes. As she slipped on her dress, she again heard the strange scraping sound. Looking down, she saw the same cow scraping her horns against the back porch post. The screen door slammed as Pa came out again, this time briskly slapping his pants with his hand. With a startled swing of her head, the cow took off down the path. Annie rested her hands on the sill and leaned out, watching the cow trot off. Her udder was swollen with milk and swung back and forth as she trotted.
Minutes later, Annie joined Marian and her parents in the kitchen. “Where’d that cow come from, Pa?”
“I imagine she belongs to some rancher. Because of the drought, they’ve had to turn their stock loose to forage for themselves. Poor critters.” As he shook his head sympathetically, the familiar scraping sound came again.
They all went out onto the porch and stared at the big cow. She stared back dully. Then, lifting her head, she drew out a long, sad Moooo.
“Pa, she wants to be milked,” Marian said. “Look at her full udder.” She took a step toward the jersey, then stopped as the animal swung her head, brandishing sharp horns. A hoofed foot stamped in the dust, raising dust swirls in the already hot morning sun.
“I’ll milk her! Then we’ll have cream on our mush. Won’t that be good?” Annie’s voice was excited. She looked appealingly at Pa. “Can I, Pa? Please. She’s come here, asking.”
“Annie, part of her looks like she wants to be milked, all right. But her horns and that look in her eyes say, ‘No one better bother me.’”
“Let me try, Pa. Please. If she doesn’t want me to, she’ll just leave.”
“All right, Annie. Go ahead and try, but I don’t think she’ll even let you near her.”
Annie slipped into the kitchen and grabbed a large pot and a stool. Carrying them cautiously, she walked slowly toward the cow, who stood watching her. The cow’s front hoof pawed at the dusty ground, and her tail switched away a fly. Annie hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. The cow really didn’t look too friendly. Then she thought, Cream on ourmush! I’ll bet this cow is from Heavenly Father.
Annie took another slow step. “There now, little mama,” she crooned. “We’ll soon have you feeling better.” With slow, steady movements, Annie positioned the pot under the cow. Soon steady streams of rich, warm milk were filling it to the brim.
Just as Annie finished, the cow flung her head and took off, her sharp hoofs barely missing the pot of foaming milk.
“Wow!” Marian breathed. “Annie, you sure were brave. She really isn’t too tame.”
“Let’s go have our mush with cream, Marian!” Annie exulted.
After Pa said the blessing, Annie added her own silent thank-you to Heavenly Father.
Early the next morning, Annie was again awakened by the scraping sound.
Oh! You’ve sent her again, Heavenly Father! Annie thought as she drew in a quick breath. She flew down the stairs, snatched up the stool and pot, and raced outdoors.
“Oh, Bossie dear, I’m so glad that you came back. We loved the milk you gave us yesterday. Do you belong to Heavenly Father, Bossie?” Talking gently, Annie was soon filling the pot again with Bossie’s creamy milk.
Each morning, all through the hot, dry summer, the cow returned. And each morning Annie’s young, strong fingers milked her. Mama gave the cow some of their precious water to drink each morning as partial payment for her cream and milk.
The days grew shorter and cooler. One day a long downpour sank deeply into the thirsty ground. Soon Pa found work, and once again they were able to buy a variety of foods to eat.
One afternoon a rancher rode up to the door. “Good morning, Ma’am,” he said to Mama. “I’m rounding up the cattle that I had to turn loose a while back. I’m missing one—a big jersey with a splash of dark brown on one side. I wonder if you’ve seen her?”
“Oh my, yes!” Mama said. “Is she yours? We’ve wondered whom she belonged to. She’s been coming every morning for months. My Annie’s been milking her, and—”
“Nope, can’t be her, then, Ma’am,” he interrupted. “This cow will hardly let a husky man milk her, let alone a tad of a girl. She’s a mean critter.”
“Well, this cow’s skittish, all right. But she apparently lost her calf and was heavy with milk, so each morning Annie has been milking her. We don’t know who has been milking her at night.”
“Well, I just can’t imagine her being milked by a little girl. But maybe I’ll drop by and have a look, anyway.”
The next morning the rancher came as Annie was still milking the cow.
“Well, I’ll be switched!” he declared. “That jersey’s one and the same, as sure as can be.” He walked slowly around the cow as Annie finished milking her. “Yep, there’s my brand, all right. But say, little girl, you’ve been doing something few have ever done.” With that, he led the cow away down the road.
Annie watched the cow go and smiled at the thought of Heavenly Father’s goodness. Thanks, Heavenly Father, for filling our mouths with more than just mush.

When I was the Presiding Bishop and one of my counselors, Bishop Ashton, died, I asked for Brother [Thorpe B.] Isaacson. He was then at the head of a large insurance business that he owned and operated. And when President George Albert Smith asked him if he was willing to serve as my counselor, he said: “Yes, but I would like to go back East and arrange with my company to appoint a manager, because you know in the insurance business so much depends on renewals. But,” he said, “if they won’t let me do it, I’ll tell them to take the business.” I happen to know that the tithing he had been paying was just about the equivalent of what his allowance was when he became a counselor in the Bishopric! And not only that, for the first six months after he received his allowance, he turned it back to the Church. He said: “I’ve never been on a mission, so it is about time I did something.”

During this past summer, over 200,000 of our young people all over the world grew in faith at one of the hundreds of weeklong sessions of For the Strength of Youth, or FSY, conferences. Coming out of pandemic isolation, for many it was an act of faith in the Lord to even attend. Many of the young participants seem to follow a similar upward arc toward deeper conversion. At the end of their week, I liked to ask them, “So, how’s it been?”
They sometimes said something like this: “Well, on Monday I was so annoyed with my mother because she made me come and do this. And I didn’t know anybody. And I didn’t think it was for me. And I wouldn’t have any friends. … But now it’s Friday, and I just want to stay here. I just want to feel the Spirit in my life. I want to live like this.”

Evie walked into the noisy gym and pulled her kneepads up over her knees. She was excited for volleyball camp, but also really nervous. She’d never been alone at a camp like this before! She hoped she would make friends soon.
She looked around at the dozens of girls talking excitedly to each other. I wish I was more like Libby, she thought. Libby was her sister. She could talk to anyone and become good friends.
But Evie was more … quiet. At school, she usually liked to read her book instead of talking before class. She didn’t mind working by herself on school projects. And when it was her birthday, she invited just a few friends to go skating instead of having a big party.
The coach blew her whistle, and Evie jogged over to join the others for warm-ups. Evie felt a little awkward, but she tried to talk to a few of the girls.
After hours of serving, passing, and playing get-to-know-you games, it was finally time for lunch. Evie brought her food to a round table and sat next to some other players. Everyone was talking loudly and singing in funny voices. Evie munched quietly on her carrot sticks.
One of the older girls at the table noticed Evie being quiet. “Hey!” She put her hand on Evie’s shoulder and shook it playfully. “Be yourself! Just be crazy!”
Evie felt embarrassed. But what if I am being myself? she thought. What if I don’t want to “be crazy”? Maybe there was something wrong with her. Everyone seemed to like the girls who were loud.
At the end of the day, Evie was glad to see Mom’s car pull up. “How was it?” Mom asked.
“Fun,” Evie said as she climbed into her seat. And it had been fun … sort of.
Evie sighed. Tomorrow would be another day of camp, surrounded by people she didn’t know. She would have to be brave all over again.
Mom seemed to read her mind. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “It’s not easy going to a camp where you don’t know anyone.”
Evie looked out the window. “I just wish I wasn’t so quiet.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being quiet,” Mom said. “It will get easier as you get to know more people. But you don’t have to change your personality. Being you is OK.”
Evie thought about that for the rest of the drive home.
The next day, Evie was brave and talked to a few more people. She tried to think less about what others were thinking about her. Instead, she focused on playing her best and having fun. She worked hard on the drills and said kind things to the other players. She still felt like she was quieter than most of the others, but she started to feel more confident making new friends.
On the last day of camp, everyone sat on the gym floor while the coach announced awards for each girl. Tasha got the award for the most improved serve. Mia got the award for most team spirit.
“And to Evie,” the coach said, “the Quiet Leader Award.” Evie’s eyes widened as she stood up to get her certificate. Everyone clapped.
“Sometimes we think leadership means being loud and telling people what to do,” said the coach. “But a good leader sets an example for others to follow. Thanks for working hard, Evie. Your actions speak louder than your words.”
Evie smiled as she walked back to her seat. Mom was right! Being quiet was OK. It was more than OK, actually.

Several years ago, a young man became involved in the ways of the world. For a time, his parents had no influence on him. Two high priests who were neighbors and members of his ward but who had no specific calling to serve him, together with an uncle and others, put their arms around and befriended him. They nursed him back into activity and encouraged him to prepare for a mission. They told him that they loved him and demonstrated that love by their conduct towards him. This changed the young man’s life. It takes an abundance of love and a cooperative effort to raise a child.

But using healthy humor to smooth the trials of life is part of a happy home. Couples marry each other in part because they are happy when they are together. How wonderful it is when, after marriage, they continue to make each other laugh. Dan’s humor, in all kinds of situations, has been a delight and a balm to our family. One day when I was doing some hand sewing, I lost my needle in the carpet. Dan knelt down to find it. As I started to help, he said, “No, don’t. I’m sure I’ll run it into my hand any minute.”

Every marriage has incidents that can become private, lighthearted signals to each other. One of ours began many years ago when Dan told me of an idea that had come to him. We’ve both forgotten what it was, but I must have abruptly squelched it, because he paused, then said, “Well, for just a minute there, I thought it was a great idea.” Now, whenever one of us feels put down and says, “Well, for just a minute there, I thought … ,” we both laugh, and the message is clear and friendly.

There are some family crises that can become laughable lessons. My aunt and uncle, both fond of practical jokes played on themselves and others, lived on a ranch without running water. One cold, rainy evening, my uncle came in drenched to see his wife sitting comfortably by the fireplace. She said, “Dear, since you’re already wet and cold, will you bring in a bucket of water?” He went out and returned with the water, dumped it on her, and said “Now you’re wet and cold. Could you go get the water?” They laughed as they retold the story, and the incident became a family joke. So now when we really shouldn’t ask a favor, or when we realize we are imposing, we start the request with, “Since you’re already wet and cold … ,” and the job usually gets done with a smile.

A key to unlocking healthy fun in marriage is faith—faith in God, in each other, and in the future—faith enough to relax and enjoy the day we are now living. With faith, we can see some humor even in our trials.

If we want the spirit of the Lord in our marriages and in our homes, we must “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny [our]selves of all ungodliness” (Moro. 10:32). If Christ would not say it, we will not say it, even at home. If Christ would sacrifice to sanctify a relationship, so will we—especially at home. Spirituality is loving what Christ loves. It is wanting a celestial marriage enough to let go of telestial attitudes. A telestial attitude is selfish, with the focus on my needs, my pleasure, my time. Terrestrial attitudes—worrying too much about what other think—hurt marriage, too. Is our family comparable to those around us? Is our home nice enough? What do our neighbors think of the way we spend our leisure time?

Since we are sons and daughters of celestial parents, our spirits respond with joy when we live like celestial people. A marriage built on celestial principles has a power available to it that is greater than our combined strength.

While we were expecting our ninth child, an examination revealed that I had cancer. The doctors could not determine the source or extent without endangering the baby, and she wasn’t old enough to survive birth. But they did know the cancer was spreading. So we were asked to decide whether the doctors should operate despite the risk, or if they should wait until the baby had developed more fully.
To me there seemed to be no answer. I wanted to live and to rear our eight children. But I also felt protective of the child I was carrying. We struggled for several weeks, giving the baby more time to mature, prayerfully seeking to know the will of the Lord. Our answer came when, after much prayer and fasting, Dan said to me, “Barbara, it will be all right. I have scheduled surgery.”
Because of priesthood power, he could do more than make that difficult decision. He called our home teacher, a neighbor who had had his own struggle with cancer, and my brother. In the name of Jesus Christ, my husband, assisted by those men, blessed me and our baby that what was done would be best for both of us.
Dan again wrote me a letter the night before surgery: “These past days have been filled with more anxiety and soul searching for me than any time in my life. … As we have passed through swells of faith and depths of fear, I have experiences a purging I didn’t know I needed. The priesthood blessings you have received are from the Lord. Tonight as we sat in your hospital room, I was aware of your struggle between fear and faith. I experienced it myself for many hours after I returned home. Just now I have received, with burning assurance, the Lord’s seal upon the blessings you have received. … [The doctors], as instruments in the hands of our Father in Heaven, will do what is needed to perform His work.”
The surgery was successful. Our healthy daughter, now fifteen years old, was born seven weeks later.
Our burdens and challenges continue, but we are still striving to improve. Dan is living the promise he made on our wedding day. He does what he knows is right. He is never harsh or unkind. I am learning how to express my happiness and gratitude, and even to make decisions more quickly.
Brother Gerald Lund, a Church Educational System administrator, tells the story of medical personnel taking a truckload of supplies into the jungles of Africa to set up a hospital. The bridges they had to cross were not strong enough to support the truck. Rather than lightening the load by leaving precious supplies behind, they stopped at each river or ravine to strengthen the bridge.
When we set out to build a celestial marriage, we have no choice but to carry the whole load the whole way. We cannot drop off the heavy things, such as problems with children, financial burdens, or poor health. When we, in our problem-solving truck, reach a chasm, sometimes we must be willing to stop and strengthen the bridge for our marriage to get through.
When we do so, our love increases, and together we find happiness. We also draw closer to the Lord and come to know of our Savior’s deep concern for our family.
If we are faithful to marriage covenants made in the temple, the Lord has promised that we “shall inherit thrones, kingdoms, principalities, and powers, dominions, all heights and depths … and … shall pass by the angels, and the gods, which are set there, to [our] exaltation and glory in all things” (D&C 132:19).
If Dan and I are together forever, we will both be perfected. My challenges for today are to see my sweetheart now with that eternal potential, to patiently work on my own imperfections, and to let the Lord influence my husband to work on his. Through love, laughter, and spirituality, the two of us will work together toward exaltation.